


Almost

by pixiePique



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiePique/pseuds/pixiePique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Karkat are grumpy college students and things happen</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with 100% more trash

     "Holy shitting fuck tits what the hell is going on."

      Your name is Dave Strider, and you have just woken up to an infernal screeching noise that sounds like Freddie Fazbear fucking a robot goose in the ass. No noise has ever been this horrible in all of paradox space. None. You feel as if someone has personally violated your earholes with sandpaper made of razors and diamonds and ejaculated lemon juice mixed with bleach.

      You sit up rapidly and look around for the source of this ruckus, and see the fire alarm lighting your room up like a strobe light at Satan's own 2008 rave.

      "Jesus." Your shitty alarm clock shows you that it's two in the morning.

     "Jesus on a boat."

      You clap your hands over your ears and kick the blankets off violently. Jumping up, you head out the door- stopping only to grab the important shit- shades, wallet, phone, and the ironic kimono your stupid weeaboo brother sent you to cover up the fact that you sleep in your underwear.

        The thing has flamingos on it.

        You follow your bleary-eyed classmates out the doors and into the quad, wrapping your flamingo-patterned piece of shit tighter around you to keep from freezing your tits off. It is seriously brick-titties outside. Your teeth chatter as you look around at everyone shivering. Nearby some very blonde girls in skimpy nightgowns are pouring out of a sorority house, quickly being swarmed by the engineering majors, who are offering their jackets.

         You're surprised the nerds didn't brave the raging flames that may or may not be there to grab the blankets off their beds, or the beds themselves.

        You turn around to check if the building is actually on fire yet, and hear a sharp "Ow!" You look around for someone you could have bumped into, but see that nobody is looking at you. You are confused until you feel a tug on the sleeve of your kimono and look down with dawning realization to see an angry kid with serious bedhead who is so short and adorable that you cannot believe he was allowed on a college campus.

        "What the fuck was that? Do you have eyes beneath those hideous monstrosities?"

        You cannot believe what is coming out of that endearingly pouty mouth. How old is this kid, fifteen? Is he here with his parents?

        "Open your wordhole, fucker. I want a damn apology before we all die of hypothermia."

        "I think by hideous monstrosity you mean swagtastic."

        He gapes at you like he cannot believe that those are the words that chose to come out of your mouth. You feel him. You can't believe it either.

        His eyes narrow. "Now I want two apologies. One for elbowing me in the face, and one for that garish, flamingo-infested offense to humanity." He gestures to your kimono.

        You refuse to admit defeat. "Says the motherfucker in a onesie with trains on it." You narrow your eyes as well, and then quickly realize he can't see that. You incorporate the slightest bit of a scowl into your poker face. That'll show him.

        He flushes bright red, which would be adorable if he wasn't such a shit. "Come down here and fucking fight me about it."

        "What are you, twelve? I should really call your parents, they must be worried sick about you." His eyes widen and the blood drains from his face. His eyes are suddenly shinier, but you can't really tell because he turns his head away.

        "I'm eighteen, you- dumbdumb." Holy shit, is he crying? Shit. No. Fix it.

        "Hey man, don't cry. I'm sorry." Wait, what did you just say? He wipes at his eyes and stares defiantly up at you.

        "I'm not crying, fuckass."

        "Fuckass? Jeez, at least let me buy you dinner first."

        He stares at you open-mouthed.

        "Just trying to ease the tension." You raise your hands defensively.

        He stares at you in disbelief.

        "What?"  

        "You're an idiot."

        You snort. "Think what you want, but the simple fact of life is that it is fucking subzero out here. Do you want to get coffee?"

        What? You feel bad for the kid. The fact that he's cute has nothing to do with it.

        He looks up at you like you've just crawled out of a storm drain covered in slime and asked him for his hand in marriage. "What?"

        You raise an eyebrow at him. "It is cold as a witch's tit out here, and yet not thirty yards away there is a warm coffee shop with warm-ass coffee. And you, my tiny friend, are in the delightful company of one of the few assholes out here who were smart enough to save their wallet from the roaring flames that may or may not be in the building. Do you want to get in on that sweet elixir or what?"

        He cracks a smile for the first time, revealing a tooth gap right out of a Disney movie. You barely abstain from clutching your heart. It's too late for you. You're dead. You are dead and this tiny little shit has killed you.

        "Sounds like something Gamzee would say." You feel your blood boil. Who is this Gamzee? His boyfriend? You're ready to punch them in the face, whoever they are. Wait, is this- jealousy? No. No way. You don't get jealous. It is just not the Strider way. Your bro would be ashamed. You should be ashamed. But somehow, you can't bring yourself to give a shit.

        He looks at you with a sheepish grin, almost like he's sorry for being so bitchy. "Alright, you're buying me coffee. Now let's go, it's the fucking arctic tundra out here and I'm not wearing real pants."

        Almost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things unfold. There are events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why have I done this

         You walk into the heavenly glow of the cafe and are immediately enveloped in delicious, steamy warmth. Yes, this is much better. You can work with this. You feel your muscles relax, and even hear the other boy breathe a sigh of relief. You escort him towards the line, throwing your arm around him and accidentally smacking him in the face with the sleeve of your kimono.

 

        "Mrmph." He flails his arms, desperately battling the swaths of silk threatening to suffocate him.

        You chuckle and retract your arm, this time swinging it around his shoulders gracefully, letting the fabric drape over him like a cape when your arm settles across his shoulders. His face immediately turns the exact color of the cabooses on his pajamas, and the general effect is that he's pretending to be a superhero.

        You look towards the line and see that it's longer than Gravity's fucking Rainbow. Charles Dickens couldn't even have described how long this line was. This line makes Disneyland look like a questionable roadside petting zoo. It's almost enough to make you leave with a swish of your totally ironic (no you are not genuinely starting to like the feeling of silk against your skin, shut the fuck up) kimono like the kawaii-ass bitch you are.

        You turn and watch the shouty little guy sigh as he stares at a passing caramel-macchi-whatever-the-fuck.

        Suddenly that line doesn't look so bad.

        "This way, good sir." You wink at the little guy and hold your head high, stretching your arms out like a ballerina and sweeping past the boxes of tea towards the end of the line like a beautiful fairy queen. Karkat shuffles along beside you awkwardly, clearly embarrassed to know you (but not enough to leave before you buy him coffee, you notice).

        "You are a fucking weirdo." He glares at you.

        "Takes one to know one, pal." You smirk.

        He quirks an eyebrow. "Great nineties humor, idiot."

        "I know you are, but what am I?"

        "Oh my god." He buries his head in his hands.

        "You can just call me Dave."

        He pretends to weep into his palms.

        Your stomach does a weird fluttering thing. You blame it on the fact that you've finally found a match for your inordinately high sarcasm level. A very cute match. Or you're just hungry. You choose to ignore anything that may or may not have come immediately prior to the last reason. Focus on something else.

        You realize you don't even know this shit's name. Embarrassing. So not smooth. You're a disgrace to the Strider name. Fix it. Be cool. Make your bro proud.

        "So what's your name? I can't just call you short angry dude all the time. That shit's for special occasions."

        He gapes at you open-mouthed. You fucked up. You fucked up so bad you cannot even believe it. You weren't even aware that it was possible to fuck up this badly. This has to defy some kind of Einstein-esque law of physics shit. You can almost feel the last shreds of your coolness wither and float away on a wafting breeze of pure idiocy.

        He is still staring at you.  
You absolutely are not blushing like a fuckin waifu. You aren't.

        Shut up.

        He's still staring.

       You have to end this. "Dude, what? I can't ask a simple question?"

       He squints at you, mouth still open. "I have no words."

       You turn away, mortified.

       "Excuse me for being friendly."

       "The words are gone. In fact, they never existed at all. You made them up and then crushed your own creation like so much faygo under your stupid converse."

       "Dude, I would never drink faygo even ironically. That shit is the Last Airbender of soft drinks."

       "Well, at least that proves you're not a total imbecile."

       By this point you've reached the front of the line, and the bored-looking barista asks you for your orders in a monotone. Karkat orders some fancy shit and you almost forget to order entirely because you're so mad at yourself for not just listening to him give his name for the cup. You consider just running back into your dorm and letting the flames that may or may not exist put you out of your misery.

        "Sir, what can I get for you today?"

        You bleakly order a large cup of coffee as dark as your soul with as many shots of espresso as they're legally allowed to give you, and you'll put in your own damn cream and sugar, thank you.

        You receive your heart attack in a cup and elbow your way to a table, your billowing kimono clearing a path for your tiny new friend. You take a moment to thank any and all celestial deities that this cafe decided to remain open at this ungodly hour just for these poor godforsaken college kids.

        You and karkat sit quietly, trying not to fall asleep with your faces in your drinks.

        He takes a huge gulp and sighs contentedly, looking around. "The dorm better be ashes by the time we get back or I'm going to be fucking homicidal."

        You grimace, trying not to choke on what you're now convinced is straight epinephrine.

        "Same."

        You pretend this isn't the best thing you've ever woken up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a horrible decision

**Author's Note:**

> I'm peeing B Y E


End file.
